


Day Off

by tinymacuser1998



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, and failed jobs, and handjobs, ha cha cha cha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinymacuser1998/pseuds/tinymacuser1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Jimmy would wait. Sometimes, it was as quickly as two days, like when he stumbled upon the strip mall in Albuquerque as though by accident and Mike called him up, asking what was next. Other times, it took a while.<br/>It took Mike exactly a year and a day to find Gene in Omaha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Off

There are personal aspects of his past life (both as James McGill and Saul Goodman) that are particularly hard to scrape off. But, slowly  and surely, each trouble spot wears away into a dissipated nothingness that Jimmy learned to expect.

Except for Mike. Mike Ehrmantraut stuck around like a goddamn grease stain in suede, and it would’ve been partially flattering if it wasn’t dangerous.

So Jimmy would wait. Sometimes, it was as quickly as two days, like when he stumbled upon the strip mall in Albuquerque as though by accident and Mike called him up, asking what was next. Other times, it took a while.

It took Mike exactly a year and a day to find Gene in Omaha.

He was lurking around for a while. Jimmy obviously saw him, sitting in the back tables near the Cinnabon kiosk with his few-days-old newspaper brushing the bottom of his nose, and he thought maybe he was going crazy for awhile. He saw faces in strangers, after all, but he chalked it up to wishful thinking and intense loneliness most of the time. Mike himself once told Jimmy never to trust anyone, even the most harmless looking fuckers, which was the only advice that stuck throughout all of this. So he saw Mike, nonetheless, in the back of the parking lot after the mall closed, driving around the general area of his parking complex, and even in the back of the grocery store once, if only for a second.

It was almost a relief when Mike broke in. At least Jimmy knew he wasn’t going crazy.

It was about three a.m. on a Sunday morning, which was a relief because it was the only day he didn’t work, but Mike must’ve known that for a while. Regardless, Jimmy was planning on sleeping most of the day, anyways: when he didn’t leave his apartment, he didn’t have to look over his shoulder all the time. He had started wearing earplugs to bed because his apartment’s walls were thin enough to let sound seep through and his neighbors on almost every side were annoyingly chatty in the wee hours, sometimes. Except for Mrs. Jefferson, who was almost eighty-two and would kick it at seven, but she wore a sleep apnea machine. All of those factors led to Jimmy not hearing Mike’s knocking until his door, which led to Mike breaking into his house.

It was startling to wake up to a slap to the face. It was more startling to wake up to a slap in the face and then being shaken violently, but at least Jimmy can say he’s had the experience now.

He didn’t even hear the screaming, which he knew there must’ve been quite a bit of because the super told him the next time rent was due about the noise complaints. He just felt the slap and Mike’s other hand around his throat until Jimmy floundered and ended up on the floor of his bedroom.

“I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead!” Mike must’ve been screaming before, because he was panting it then, all red faced and clenched teeth.

Jimmy couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even breathe. He just sat with his shoulders against the frame of his bed and his naked legs tangled in his sheets. When he felt his pulse steady and caught his breath, he looked at Mike from the corner of his eye and said, “There was an easier way to communicate that to me, jackass.”

Mike wasn’t even looking at him. He had sat on the bed with his head in his hands and his knees on his elbows. His back was to Jimmy.

Jimmy stood up and piled his sheets on his pillows before putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder, which the other man immediately shrugged off.

“I’ll... make some coffee,” Jimmy heard himself say before heading to the kitchen.

What would coffee accomplish? Maybe he just wanted something to do with his hands. Anyways, it kept him distracted for a bit. The drip, drip, drip of the Mr. Coffee was mind-numbly repetitive. So much so that he didn’t notice Mike follow him into the kitchen until he turned to get mugs from the dishwasher.

“You’re looking worse for wear, Goodman,” Mike said, eyeing him up and down.

But Mike didn’t look too good himself, either. There were bags under his eyes and his hands kept clenching and unclenching. After a moment, Jimmy brushed past him to get the mugs and started pouring.

“You’re not so hot yourself, Mike,” Jimmy said, handing him one coffee with two sugars and keeping a soft brown cup for himself.

Mike shrugged before leaning on the counter and taking a sip. It kept on like that, for a while, but Jimmy cleared his throat to speak after Mike went to refill his mug.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you breaking into my house,” Jimmy said, eyeing his open door with disdain rather than worry (he did pick a nice neighborhood for a reason, after all), “but, do you mind me asking why you’re here?”

Mike snorted into his cup of coffee, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to kill you.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and put his coffee cup in the sink.

“If you were here to kill me, I’d be dead already.”

Mike laid his hand over his chest, “You flatter me, Saul.”

But Jimmy didn’t reply. He raised his head defiantly at Mike, who sighed and swished the dregs of his coffee around in his mug before talking again.

“The daughter-in-law...” Mike started before shaking his head, like it was emotionally trying to force out the sentence, “she didn’t want me around. Which is, y’know, understandable after what happened.”

Jimmy crossed his arms and waited for him to continue.

“So I didn’t know what to do with myself. Reasoned I would track you down,” Mike finished, staring down into his mug shamefully.

Jimmy didn’t fully understand. Arguably, he had been the one to ruin Mike’s life, or at least, to set the gears in motion that eventually would lead to it. Mike had nothing to be ashamed of.

But Jimmy couldn’t say that to him over the lump in his throat, so he swallowed and put his cup in the sink behind him before reaching out to do the same for Mike.

“So you became listless,” he concluded, and Mike nodded.

Jimmy sighed, scratching at his head and looking to the door before going to close it.

“Well, it’s Sunday,” he said.

Mike sized him up for a second time, “And?”

“And,” Jimmy said, going back to the sink to wash out the two mugs and the coffee pot, “I’m going back to sleep. Want a pillow and blanket for the couch?”

Mike guffawed and Jimmy looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s it?” Mike asked.

Jimmy put the pot and the mugs on the drying rack before turning to face Mike again.

“Yeah,” he said, “that’s it.”

Mike shook his head and walked to the bedroom.

“Fuck you,” he heard Mike call behind him, “for giving me coffee before bed.”

If Jimmy had been younger, more awake, or even himself again, really, he would’ve put up a fuss at the idea of sharing a bed with another man. But he, as Gene, was either defeated by the world or too tired to give a shit.

“It was decaf, jackass,” he said, walking into his bedroom.

* * *

They slept late. Very late, but Jimmy reasoned Mike needed it. He was out like a light after slipping into bed, but still moved around a lot in between the time he had fallen asleep and Jimmy followed his example. So it was almost noon when Jimmy opened his eyes, feeling overheated by the Texas sun valiantly trying to beat its way through his blackout curtains and another warm body shacked up next to him.

There was the other thing, too.

Because Jimmy hadn’t been in this close of proximity to anyone for at least the past year, if not longer. This sort of thing was constituted, but he was pretty sure Mike would cut his dick off and make him eat it if he woke up, so Jimmy tried to slip out and take care of it. Mike suddenly grabbed his arm.

“We need to talk,” he said, barely opening his eyes. It was almost adorable, actually, if Jimmy was sentimental in that sort of way. Mike was still curled up onto his side and was clutching Jimmy’s arm like a baby would clutch at a leaving parent, and Jimmy slumpt back.

“There’s something I need to take care of first,” Jimmy said.

Mike pulled his hand back and opened his eyes all the way. “Yeah, like what?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but in the dim light of the room, he knew Mike wouldn’t see it. “Like something. I won’t take long.”

“We talk first,” Mike said defiantly.

Jimmy threw his arms up. “I have morning wood, alright? Jesus!”

Mike withdrew his hand silently and let Jimmy run to the bathroom, where he found he was barely half-hard anymore but decided to take care of the rest of it with a cold shower. When he was done, he walked back into his bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said from under the covers.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimmy replied, turning on the light to his closet.

“No, really, I’m sorry,” Mike said again.

Jimmy didn’t look back, just grabbed his sweatpants and tshirt from the top shelf of the closet. “Like I said, Mike, it’s not a big deal.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

It was wishful thinking that made Jimmy react the way he did. He dropped his clothes on the carpet and stood completely still, reasoning in his own mind that, if he didn’t move an inch or breathe at all, he might make it out of this with some shred of decency. Mike couldn’t have known what he was implying. Mike couldn’t have known that he couldn’t have known what he was implying, either, because of their current setting, but Jimmy was reading into it. He had to be, because there wasn’t any way that Mike would touch him.

It didn’t start Jimmy from getting hard all over again, though. He cursed under his breath and Mike chuckled.

“What, um, did you have in mind?” Jimmy asked, voice cracking, and still not daring to look over at Mike.

“You know what,” Mike replied, “now get over here before I change my mind.”

The darkness helped, sort of. Jimmy tripped over the chest at the end of his bed and definitely stubbed his toe on the bed frame more than once, but there was no way he could’ve walked over to the bed, dropped his towel, and gotten under the covers to sit beside Mike if he knew Mike could see him at all.

And Mike, for all of Jimmy’s effort, didn’t even sit up alongside him, just laid his head on the pillow while Jimmy waited anxiously with the most concerning boner he’d ever hand in his life. Mike slipped his hand across Jimmy’s thigh and started pumping him like it was a task.

Jimmy’s head hit the headboard to its own accord, much like how the little mewls and moans slipped out of his mouth. God, how long had it been? He’d tried to remember. He kept on trying and trying to remember, last time he was with a woman and then last time he was with a man and then last time he had been with _anyone_ until his balls were tightening and Mike heard him his to him, “ _Jimmy, just let go_.”

Which was probably the hottest thing someone had ever said to him, he didn’t know why, but he came with a shout and Mike efficiently jerked him through it.

He slumped down into the headboard and pant when Mike drew his hand away, like a marionette doll whose strings had been cut. He felt a cold, damp cloth hit his stomach, which made him yelp and make Mike laugh.

“It’s your towel, you idiot,” Mike said, wiping off Jimmy’s stomach and then his own hand. When he was done, he sat up and walked the towel to the clothes bin that was on the other side of the room. When he sat down again, Jimmy tugged on the sleeve of his tshirt.

“Do you want me to, um,” he said, pointedly looking at Mike’s lap.

Mike shrugged, “I’ve never turned down a handjob.”

Jimmy thought for a moment before smiling and hauling Mike back to lean on the headboard again.

“And you won’t get to today,” Jimmy said, pulling down Mike’s boxers before lowering his head.

If there was something Jimmy McGill was good at, it was sucking dick. It was a necessity at one point of his life, but he can’t remember when or why, so he doesn’t dwell too much on it and focused on the task at hand, so to speak. He got down to business, being sloppy and kissing at the lack of a gut that someone Mike’s age really should have by now before nosing and sucking and making obscene slurping noises that have no cause but seem just comical enough to be necessary. Mike gasped, like he had just finally put together what was going on, and yanked at Jimmy’s hair which only prodded him to take Mike in farther.

Mike choked off a moan before he came, pulling at Jimmy’s hair and grunting out a warning like a true gentleman, but Jimmy swallowed, anyways. And when he was done, or rather, Mike was done, he shoved Mike back into his boxers and pulled his shirt back down to cover his stomach.

“We still need to talk,” Mike said, pulling Jimmy to his side before sinking back under the blankets.

“Eh, it can wait,” Jimmy replied, “it’s my day off, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is bad. Thanks for reading it. I just really love this pairing.


End file.
